Bozena.—He won’t hear that.
Šimr.—Why wouldn’t he hear it!
Hlaváček.—He was here this afternoon. And wanted to carry off the oleander from the front hall.
Šimr.—Just let him try it! I wouldn’t return it to him if he’d flay himself alive.
Bozena.—Is that oleander his?
Šimr.—It’s mine, now, Bozena, dear! In the winter it began to wither and so he presented me with it. Now I’ve brought it back to life, it has fine fresh young leaves and so—Vaniček wants it back.
Réza.—You’d be a fool to give anything back!
Šimr (Shrewdly).—I’m not so green!
Vaniček (Enters).—Why, aren’t you people going anywhere today?
Šimr.—Don’t you know this is May Day and we’re celebrating?
Vaniček.—I say, Šimr, that oleander is growing first rate. I must be carrying it back. (The models laugh aloud.)
Šimr.—I should say not!
Vaniček.—Say wouldn’t you like my brand new couch also? (A pause.) (Vaniček goes to the divan on which a guitar is lying and having seated himself, whistles, thrumming on the strings meanwhile. Simultaneously a drumming on the door of the front hall is heard.)
Šimr (Screaming).—Hurrah! I’ll wager it’s those two tramps, Malina and Paroubek! (Stands in the center of the studio.) The funeral march! Attention!
(All except Hlaváček stand up and at the top of their voices sing the funeral march.) Tramtará ta tamtadadadada, tramtarádáda tramtaratata. Tam, tam!
Paroubek (Enters, smiling quietly).—A funeral?
Malina (Enters after him and himself sings the next measures of the funeral march).—Tramtaráta, tramtaráta, tramtara, tramtara, tramtarááá—rara—
Réza (Mischievously screeching into Malina’s singing).—All labor has died, Paroubek, hurrah!
Hlaváček.—That pleases Paroubek.
Paroubek (Sidles lazily towards the divan where he sits down).—You do like to grind, don’t you Hlaváček? But you haven’t hurt yourself yet by overwork.
